


Of Beauties and Beasts

by thelastbarricade



Category: Hemlock Grove, Hemlock Grove (Netflix)
Genre: Anal, Blood, Blood Kink, Finished, Frottage, Halloween, High School, M/M, Other, Smut, Werewolf, completed work(s), cross dressing, halloween dance, high school dance, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastbarricade/pseuds/thelastbarricade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hemlock High is throwing their annual Halloween Bash Blowout.</p><p>Peter wants Roman to join along for the ride and crash the party.</p><p>Roman wants to play dress up.</p><p>It's a win-win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitations

  Roman licked his lips, eyes avoidant to the steps that echoed around him; to the pathetic voices and squirming, busied bodies that blurred by his darkening eyes. He crossed and uncrossed his legs as he leaned against the stone wall facing the rear of the highschool, sighing at the greying sunlight pouring through the clouds near the Football field.   
  
  He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket, flicking open his lighter between pale, cool fingers and taking a long drag. He held the bitter ash in his chest for a long while, only pausing when the soft hum of a buzzing vibration broke the silence he'd forced himself into. The smoke filtered through his nostrils, bleeding tendrils into the air as he grunted his distaste.  
  
  He patted his front jean pocket, feeling the constant movement there, fingers sliding down the fabric to wrap about his sleek touch screen.  
  
    
  
    **GYPSY:**  
  
   _you going to that halloween dance thing this friday or what?_  
  
  
  
   Roman snorted, shaking his head. The fuckin' Halloween dance. He'd almost forgotten, well, not quite. The Halloween Blowout was a pretty big event around Hemlock, and seeing as the recent events had taken the town hold and kept it under this cloud of darkening fear, Roman had to admit--he was surprised. Dead girls, mutilated bodies, conspiracies and missing authorities...the fact that the highschool still insisted on putting on their little charade of normalcy, to say the least, entertained him. And now that Peter was asking him about it? Taking interest? Well.  
  How could one resist?  
  
  
  He unlocked his screen and typed:  
  
   _Why, pup? Thinking of playing Princess party dress-up? Oh wait, or are you going full on Cliche' in an attempt to play beast?_  
  
  
   **GYPSY:**  
  
   _be careful what you wish for asshole. i'd tear your pale ass into tiny pup-sized pieces, hear?_  
  _letha needs a ride, her dad's gonna be out of town, and i ain't got a car, so_  
  
  
  Roman flicked his cigarette, half ash, into the grass. His jaw tensed as he stared down to the screen; the desire to humor Peter a ploy no longer. The mention of Letha was a fucking trick in his book. He'd warned the goddamn gypsy, his family was his own and he would do better to stay away, but Peter...hardheaded, beautiful, impossible Peter couldn't leave well enough alone. He couldn't, and hell, neither could Roman.  
  
  
  _Walk your furry ass down there, I ain't your guys' chauffuer._    
  
  Roman locked his phone screen after sending, ticking his nails against the screen as he held his phone in shaking hands.  
  
  
   **GYPSY:**  
    
   _that was me inviting you, dumbass._  
  
  
   
  Roman hesitated, smirking as he turned up his screen, trying to bite back the smile on his face as he flicked the message up towards his eyes.  
  
  
  
   **GYPSY:**  
  
  _and fuck if letha's convincing me to go. she wanted me to dress up as her hippie lover or some shit_.  
  
  
  
  Roman snorted. Of course Letha would; of course.  
  He text back with a smirk fitted nearly on his lips:  
  
  _Aren't you just that? Her hippie flower-boy lover, pup? Why not play along?_  
   
  
   **GYPSY:**  
  
 _fuck you godfrey_  
  _i ain't going to be ridiculed by a bunch of punk ass teenage human dicks. supernatural dicks included._  
  
   
  
   Roman huffed out a bit of laughter, sniffling a bit as he perched himself up on the stone wall edge. He kicked one leg beneath him, leaning agaisnt a stone pillar to text. Peter replied once more.  
  
  
   **GYPSY:**  
  
  _either you get your chauffuer ass down there with me and raise a little hell or it's my place for beers and my moms chicken. either way you're getting the fuck out of the castle'a yours, hear me?_  
  
    
    
  The  _upir_ heir tilted his head in amusement at his flashing screen; the message. He let his head lull back in thought, dark locks hitting cool stone cement as he contemplated the options before him.  
  
  Roman blinked, licking his lips as he bit at his bottom lip. He exhaled a sigh of laughter, one he knew Peter would know just by the words he left in the Gypsy's inbox.  
  
  
   _Beer is cheap. I'm not some hooker whore you can just buy with a twenty and some bedsheets to spare._  
  
  
  Roman grinned and continued typing:  
  
  
   _I'd say we could hit my place, but you know how mother is._  
    
  He paused, ticking at his screen with absent words.  
  
  
   _I do have one condition, however._  
  
  
  
   **GYPSY:**  
    
   _oh for the love of fuck. what is it, godfrey?_  
  
    
  Roman rolled his eyes at the screen.  
  
   _Don't be such a little bitch. It's a Halloween get together/party._  
  _Simple really._  
 _If we're going to crash this joint, than we have to dress the part. That's my condition--put on a bit of a show, dress out a bit._  
 _And please, /please/ do try, pup._  
  
  
  Roman waited for a moment, in silence, sure that Peter had turned in his coat and hung up the idea.   
  His phone buzzed a minute later, the words he'd been waiting on streaked across the screen in a pixelated victory.  
    
  
   **GYPSY:**  
  
  _you and letha are definitely fucking related_  
  
  _dick_  
  
 _deal. but how much effort i put into my own costume is my own damn deal_  
  
 _try to keep up, the night's gonna' go fast, got me?_  
  
  
  
  Roman bit at his bottom lip in soft, shaking his head in content. He unlocked his screen and let his fingers dance upon the screen one last time:  
  
    
   _Deal, Gypsy pup._  
  _Friday, seven o' clock sharp._  
  _be ready on time or I'll flaye you alive_  
  _and I won't be gentle._  
  
    
  Roman flicked his phone off, shoving it in his back pocket before hooking his thumbs in his jean belt loops and making his way to his car.


	2. The Costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of "Of Beauties and Beasts".
> 
> Roman decides to work on his shopping for the Halloween Bash.  
> Letha and Shelley want to tag along, much to Roman's dismay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the presumed brief-mentioned relationship between Letha/Peter, in this Letha is pregnant, by the (*spoilers*) divine entity we learn of in season one, but she is not yet showing.   
> I'd say this is about three to four weeks into her pregnancy? Technical things kinda' scare me so, erm, just go with it I guess?
> 
> Also Letha/Peter aren't really anything 'official', so it's still sort of that undercover taboo running around at night sort of relationship appeal, nothing serious.
> 
> As for Christina, the murders have already happened around Hemlock grove and she's not dead. I don't intend for this story to be too detailed or long, so no backstory as to how she is still alive will be given; she is in place for means of a minor/major character role.

  "I think Peter would look quite nice as a hippie." Letha huffs with a small girlish pout as she slumps down in one of the Godfreys many manor couches, this one a simple victorian model; pale and eggshell in color, Olivia's choosing.  Letha crosses and uncrosses her legs as he exhales her impatience toward her dear cousin, blond hair toussled in a ponytail as she leaned her head back, staring upside-down to Roman who wait standing behind her; dressing.  
  
  "I think you're making a mockery of him. And his hair." Roman thinks of Peter's deep golden locks, adorned with frilly flowers and a wreath of woven vines. It wasn't the right mental image, no. Not for his Peter. His beautiful Peter who was animal and man and beast and boy all at once.  Flowers indeed did not fit him...but Roman knew for himself what would.   
  
"You're going to make a frilly mess of him." Roman turns on his heel in the manor mirror, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt and zipping up his jeans. "Just because no other costume short of a bum or the classic Wolf Man would fit him, doesn't mean we go straight for the cheap plastic peace signs and tie dyed fabrics of our past, Letha please." He sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the dainty blonde.  
  
  "I would look great as a flower girl! I could part my hair down the middle, dip-dye it pink maybe, oh and think of how cute those vintage bell-bottom jeans Peter's mom owns would look...!" Letha babbles on and on about matching costumes and fabrics and how Peter probably owned enough clothing of his own to pull their look off. _Their._  Ugh. Roman meant not to sound like a brooding teenage girl, but he was noticing just how enticed by Peter Letha had become. How much he had grown to distaste his own blood. How much Peter humoured her and flirted with his cousin just to see the annoyance in his ever dark eyes.   
  
  Roman wonders for a second more why he even let Letha come over to the manor. Why he hadn't faked illness or simply ignored the girl when she called. He didn't need help shopping, lordd knows he would do perfectly well on his own. He had all the shops mapped out and his entire outfit planned to the nines. He would show up Letha and her petty hippy outfit-to-never-be anyway. Of course he cared not to let her know.  
  
  "Norman would kill you if he knew you were going with Peter." He breaks her babbles with a morose tone indifference.  
  
  Letha pauses mid-sentence, bright baby blue eyes narrowing. "You're not going to tell-"  
  
  "Of course not." Roman exhales sharply. "I'm driving after all. Your personal family matters aren't even a concern to me, Letha, really." He buttons the last of his shirt and clicks his tongue at the reflection in the mirror. "We're good. Get in the car, it's Thursday so the shop I've considered should be open until-"  
  
  "Wait! Olivia said we should bring Shelley, she wants to go to the dance too."  
  
  Roman nearly drops his keys at the thought. "I'm sorry, but exactly how traumatizing do you want my sister's high school experience to be? What do you want me to dress her up as? Cinderella? She'll be a mockery-"  
  
  "She just wants to help you shop for your costume, Roman. You're her big brother, give her a break."  
  
  "I simply don't want to have to make a scene. She's my little sister, I will spare her what I can. And as if Olivia will allow even the thought." Roman leaves it at that, stepping onto the staircase to call up. "Shell'!" He jingles the keys in his palm, patting his pocket for a cigarette check. "Come on, Shell' we're leaving!"  
  
  Shelley pokes her head down the stairwell, dark hair waving about her face where a subtle, questioning smile lingers as she descends. She pulls out her stylus and ticks away at her cell phone.  
    
  " _Are - you - sure - a - bout - this?_ " The little electronic voice on her keypad drones.  
  
  "Shelley," Roman brushes the girls cheek, leaving a soft warm glow of violet and plum behind. "You know how mother can be about these...public affairs. Promise you won't be angry with me if you can't go?" He smiles that charming smile of his, biting his lower lip in soft.  
  
  Shelley nods in an almost flush fashion, her obvious warmth toward her older brother showing in the soft nod of her head and light tick of keys.   
  
  " _Of - course - not. Never - angry - with -you.  
  I - just - want - to - help - shop. That - okay?_"  
  
  Roman nods, taking in a short breath. "Of course, Shells. Let's hit it before the stores close. I'll be pretty damn pissed if the fuckin' close out my order."   
  
  Letha jumps up from her space on the couch, tossing her ponytail behind her. "You ordered it ahead of time?"  
  
  Roman smirks. "Of course, wouldn't want to ruin the suprise."  
  
  Shelley almost pouts beside him.  
  
  Roman turns to her and catches her good eye in his glance. "Don't worry, Shell', you'll get to see the packaging okay? It's a little..." Roman pauses, sniffling a bit at the though, trying not to laugh. " _Adult_ for you. So you'll have to wait till' Friday okay? Mother is gonna' throw a fuckin' fit when she sees me." He smiles a bit at that and so does Shelley. "Come on, to the car." He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he pulls himself into the drivers seat.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  "No peeking at the merchandise, girls, you hear me?" Roman warns as he flicks the ash of the cigarette out of his window on the open road.  
  
  "Cross my heart and hope to die." Letha laughs and Shelley smiles.  
  
  A low humming buzz breaks the silence of the car as they pull up to the specialty shop just outside of town. Roman digs about his pocket and pulls out his cell phone, smirking at the sender of his newest text.  
  
  
   **GYPSY:  
  
 **  _dude, what the fuck am i supposed to wear to the halloween shit?  
  letha's still insisting on that hippy get up and i think my mom's starting to agree with her.  
  she's breaking out leather vests, man.  
  
  _Roman shakes his head, texting out a fast response:  
  
   _Do not, I repeat, /do not/ go with the hippy get up. Letha's been trying to sell me on it all day. I'm out with her shopping right now for the bash.  
  
  
  _ **GYPSY:  
  
  ** _WHAT? man, couldn't you have taken me?!!? fuck, this costume bash is bullshit.  
  nd if i can't be a hippie, what am i gonna' be? the wolf man? you got any bright ideas, godfrey?  
  
    
  _Roman audibly sighs as he pulls into the parking lot and hits park with his stick.  
  
   _For the love of god, Peter. Go aul~naturale if you must be so boring.  
  
_   He smirks at his own text as he sends it, quickly typing out another as he flicks his cigarette butt to the pavement, final breath of ash and smoke leaving his lips _.  
    
 Ruggid. Think ruggid and...fuck, just be yourself, come to think of it. You're scary as hell without a costume.  
  
    
_    **GYPSY:**  
    
   _fuck you.  
  what are you gonna' be, princess?   
  edward cullen?   
  gonna' have to quip that hair of yours and dye it bronze, asshole. also i know where we can get you some spray on body glitter.  
  
  
_  Roman can hear Peter's fucking snort of laughter at his own joke in his thoughts. The prick.  
  
  _I won't be giving away my costume just yet, wolf pup. You'll just have to show up and see._  
 _Like I said, seven o' clock. Be on time_.  
  
    
  Roman  locks his phone screen and shoves it away into the passenger side glove compartment.  
   
  "Be back in a flash, me loves." He gives them a quick wink before they can protest and strides off into the store.  
  
  
  When Roman returns he's got two packages in hand, some sealed up tight by colored plastic, some boxed up with labels Letha nor Shelley can quite read.  
  
  "Is-is that lace?!" Letha sqeaks from the backseat, clambering over to look.  
  
  "Ah, ah, ah." Roman pushes her hand away with a devilish smirk, turning to Shelley with a much softer smile. "Like I said, you two will have to wait for the big reveal, just like Peter." Roman shoves the bags into the car trunk and jumps back inside with a small huff.   
  
  "I've given away too much already." He eyes Letha pointedly through his rear view mirror.  
  
  "What could your costume possibly need with lace?" Letha crosses her arms.  
  
  "You won't have to worry about that, dear cousin." Roman smirks. "Now how about some ice cream for my little glow worm? Huh, Shells'?" Roman puts the car into drive and licks his lips, turning back towards Hemlock Grove.


	3. Concerning Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday night and 'Dress to impress' is an understatement, entirely in Roman Godfrey's case.

  Roman slipped the soles of his sneakers down the marble of the steps with barely a noticeable pitter patter. Cigarette in hand he smirked down at Letha's ridiculous get up. He loved his cousin, make no mistake, but it had become a challenging few weeks, especially with his conflicting emotions, the imminent on his mind. He coughs lightly, jangling keys in his hands.  
  
  "Ready?"  
  
  Letha turned to Roman with a wide smile, expectant eyes--they soon faltered as a frown crossed her pale pink lips.  
  
  "What _are_ you wearing?" She scoffed, running a hand through her wave toussled pastel pink and green dip-dyed blonde hair with a quick flick of her hand. She readjusted her makeshift flower wreath atop her head and headband as she did so with a distasteful pop of her lips.  
  
  Roman shrugged, smile small and unconcerned. He looked down to his plain black tank top, charcoal grey jeans and white high-top converse.  
  
  "Clothes. You?"  
  
  Letha sighed, crossing her arms. "We waited two fucking hours-"  
  
  Shelley looked up from the seat in the corner, exposed evergreen eye wide and questioning.  
  
  Roman smiled to Shelley and perked a soft brow to Letha.  
  
  "Calm yourself, dear." Roman finally broke into his knowing smirk then. "I've got to drive you and Gypsy boy to the dance first, and hell if I'm giving away my costume. I got it all set up, don't you worry you're pretty little head." He brushes a thumb over Letha's cheek, nodding. "I simply want to let Shelley help me...dress. I've got all the components of my costume up and done with, all's to be done is the assembly."   
  
  Shelley's smiled widened and she gave a small hiccup of happiness as she crossed her wrapped up arms in her lap.  
  
  Roman turned back to Letha. "Give me an hour from the time your feet hit the school's pavement, cousin."  
  
  Letha turned her dissapointed eyes cast downwards up, smiling in small. "Promise?"  
  
  Roman grinned, nodding, tugging at Letha's elbow. "Come, we've got to pick up Loverboy before he throws a fuckin' fit for _me_ being late."  
  
  Letha smiled widely at the notion, the faintest of blushes at her pale cheeks at the mention of Peter. Roman's stomach twisted at bit at the sight but his expression did not falter. Years of being under the guidance of a mother such as Oliva had taught him that composure was the most important thing he could hold in the eyes of the public. Even under the scrutiny of family. Letha was no exception.  
  He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, turning his chin toward Shelley as he held the door open for Letha.   
    
  "No peeking at my costume while I'm gone, okay Shell'?" He gave the fondest of smiles as he conjured a flame from his lighter, dissapearing with the cloud of ash and flash of blonde hair at his side.  
  
  
**  
  
  Peter's eyes reflected the oddest light in the beam of Roman's ruby red of a car as the Upir rounded the bend, the Werewolves figure a dusty shadow in the forests' surrounding. His smile was what made him unmistakable, though. Roman could see the flash of white teeth in his headlights as his lights flickered up and off the road.  
   
  "You're late, Godfrey." Peter smirked as the car came to a stop, the boy was dressed simply; nothing more than a tattered t-shirt (dramatically dyed in cheap reds), and a pair of his usual bagged and stressed jeans. Peter had his hair pulled back in a short ponytail, stubble a little longer than usual at his chin. He had his hands jammed in his pockets, licking his lips as he spoke.  
  
  Roman pulled alongside the side of the messily wire-fence and mailbox of the Rumancek residence, just before Peter's figure. He didn't take his eyes off the road before him as Peter spoke.  
  
  "And what happened to your little get up? Thought you were dressing out?" Peter braced his hands over the Godfreys car door and hopped in, leaning forward, perking an expectant brow.  
  
  Letha turned to Peter instantaneously, biting her lip and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Hey."   
  
  "Hey darlin'." Peter gave the girl a quick wink.  
  
  Roman didn't even blink. "I'm dropping you two off first, give myself more time to get ready." He eyed Peter in his rearview mirror, once more, unreadable in expression.  
  
  "Doing your hair and make-up, Godfrey? Sure you don't need help there, Princess?" Peter scoffed.  
  
  Roman grunted out a rough laugh, full lips pursed in an amused annoyance. "I've got much help awaiting me at home, Gypsy boy. Don't worry. And if I do recall, I asked you to dress out, not in. Please tell me that isn't a shirt you wore during a ritualistic sacrifice for your people or something, it looks...horrendous."  
  
  "It's Halloween." Peter glared. "I'm supposed to look...scary." Peter sounded more like an awkwardly placed pup in the end.  
  
  "Didn't need a tattered tee-shirt to do that." Roman mused.  
  
  Peter smacked the Godfrey upside the head from the backseat.   
  
  "Step on it, Godfrey. I can't wait to see what little get up you've got planned."  
  
  Roman laughed, starting his engine and kicking it into drive.  
  
  "Bet you can't, pup." He smirked, words lost in the cough of the engine and breath of night air.  
  
  
**  
  
  
  "I swear to God Roman if you ditch us-" Letha fixed her long flowing dress, a sun-dress of course, and struggled a bit with her sandals--leather laces, they were.  
  
  "I spent too much money on my outfit to ditch anyone." Roman assured her in nonchalance as he leaned back in the driver's seat.  
  
  "You're more of a girl than Letha is." Peter teased, hopping out from the back of the car, grinning.  
  
  "I simply enjoy the perks," Roman nodded, not breaking expression.  
  
  "If the perks include a bottle or four of your mom's ' _special_ ' champagne, hell, let us in on that, hear?"  
  
  Roman shook his head. "I'll text you when I'm here, not that you'll have much of a problem finding me." Roman tossed his head back, running a pale hand through dark locks.  
  
  Peter look confused for a moment, Letha was lost in the soft sounds of pumping music flowing out on the wind in the night. She shivered lightly, not even hearing Roman as he spoke. "Let's go." She whispered to Peter, the sound of far off music seeming to entrance her more than the promise of her cousin's return.  
  
  "It better be good, Godfrey." Peter cocked his head, brow perked.  
  
  Roman dropped his smile to his lap, pressing a cigarette between his lips.  
  
  "I'll text you." Roman murmurs around the cigarette, pulling off and away without a second glance, back to the manor.  
  
  
***  
  
  "Ah, easy Shells'." Roman cooed as he turned to accomadate the hands of his sister. "Not too tight, I want to be able to get out of it at the end of the night." He licked his lips as he felt his sister fumbling in soft with the weaving bits of ribbon that held together his corsette.  
  
  He turned in the mirror in slight when Shelley's movement paused, inspecting his handiwork. And Shelley's.  
   
  Roman ran his pale palms down his sides, the usual slender of his torso pulled in by curves of wiring and dark lacy fabric that criss-crossed up and down his back. He slid his fingers down the edge of the tight pleated, pencil skirt that so conformed him now.  
  Admittedly he felt a little ridiculous, even more so now than he did than when the young woman in the shop had handed over his order.  
  
  Roman took a deep breath, losing himself in the sigh of his slender fram pinned up in such colors and shapes. He let his fingertips brushed the web-like linings of his stockings, held up at thigh high length by deep plum garters lined in charcoal tones and silver.  
  
" _Are - you - wear - ing - heels - too_?" Shelley tapped out in electronic mono-tone from behind him, her smile wider and a bit more mischievous than in public norm.  
  
  "Ha. Ha." Roman smoothed back his hair, shrugging. "I'm not looking to break _my_ neck tonight, Shells. Others necks, however..." Roman trailed off as he slipped on his semi-heeled, plain, shined and rounded pocelain black doll shoes. The heels on them were minimal, three inches at most, and perfect to walk in.  
  He still felt ridiculous, but Peter had once mentioned heels...How when Letha had worn hers he couldn't take his eyes off of those _legs_. Roman stood against the mirrors reflection, adjusting the hem of his skirt and tugging it a tad higher in slight, smirking at himself. As if Letha's legs could compare to his now, all covered up in that sun dress, missing their true potential. Roman had no trouble whatsoever accentuating himself. Shameless was the Godfrey heir. Shameless in the dark and behind closed doors and whispering lips.  
  Shameless.  
  
  "I would make one hot girl." The Upir heir turned to his sister, grin subtle but hiding so much more.  
  
  Shelley laughed in soft, rough, but kind.   
  
  Roman pulled on a black hoodie, leaving the front unzipped to let his prominent collars bare light to jagged angles. In the dim yellowing light he looked golden, angelic, pale and almost cruel in his stature. A beautiful cruelty that could be felt rather than described. In his prescence, he was an angel. Dark, light, golden...he was unnatural, even Shelley knew that, but no one would deny that Roman Godfrey was beautiful.  
  
  "Lipstick." Roman barely tore his eyes away from his own as they darkened in the vanity mirror, holding out his hand as Shelley placed the tube in his hand. It weighed little, but he knew it was a finishing touch he'd needed. Needed to feel right.  
    
    The color of which was deep in shade, not dark enough to be unforgiving, but light enough to mimic the so sought shade of burgundy; a brighter red that melted into the Heir's lips like the shade of the blood he so craved. He used his finger tips to slide the color across, pouting his lips to let the color fit his full lips.   
  
  Roman stepped away from the mirror, eyes hard, transfixed. He could see Shelley, hear her ticking away at her phone, but in his mind he was alone. His smile perked up in small, spreading the deep red like a perfected gash across his pale skin as his pleased grin stretched.  
  
  Perfect.  
  
  " _You - look - beautiful_." The tones of Shelley's phone droned out as he smile curved in the background of Roman's reflection.  
  
  "Thank you, Shells'." Roman turned to his sister, thumbing her cheek as she dropped her glance in everslight. "I'm gonna' be late, walk me to the door?" He bit at his lip in slight, shifting on his heels and pulling the hood of his jacket up. "We don't want to delay the suprise, now do we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that there will be tons of Peter/Roman in the next chapter, I've never really done slow build so this is my first try at it, but wait no longer for Chapter Four when it comes around!  
> Thanks so much for your patience, loves! xx


	4. Revelations and Reveals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman shows up late, of course. It's the big reveal, after all, and he has to steal the show;  
> twas' the Godfrey way.
> 
> Peter, however, could not have been less prepared.

  "I should feel ridiculous, shouldn't I Shells'?" Roman tucked his heels into the corner of his seat as he slid onto the smooth, supple leather of his car.

  Shelley shrugged, cheeks blushing with the luminescent pale hues of plum. The tick, tick of her phone broke the air of silence.

  " _Beautiful_." The low electronic voice spoke, and for Roman that was enough.  
  
  "Thank you Shelley." Roman leaned up against his seat to kiss his sister on the cheek. "Be sure that if Mother comes home, don't let her know I'm out with Peter okay?" He thumbed his sisters cheek in quick soft. "I told Mother I just up and took Letha to that Halloween dance thing." He had to hold back his light scoff at the thought of Olivia having been so trusting of her only son. If she only knew.  
  
  " _Mother - would - have - a - fit...you're - costume_." Shelley smiled, a breath of laughter on a voice that she didn't posess present in her grin. A grin Roman knew had only been seen by two people to date. Himself, of course, and by the gods be their blessing; Peter.  
  
  "And how it breaks my heart to know that would be so!" Roman clutched at his breast, where the slender padding gripped his chest tight in his dramatics. "I'll get over it, I'm sure mother will, too." Roman started his engine with a poised twist of his keys and jerk of his slender fist to pull the vehicle into drive.  
  
  "Mind your bedtime, Shell'." Roman couldn't help smirking as he slipped his falling jacket over his exposed shoulders as it fell. "Lord knows I won't."  He couldn't be sure if Shelley had heard him. In honest, his worries, care, and all sense of shame left his mind with the uplifted dust in the wake of his exit.  
  
  He just remembered the road he took winded and the wind was a thrumming silence in his head.   
  He remembered the scent of Peter, the scent that reminisced in the most animalistic part of the _Upir's_ mind. An animal instinct that craved in him, craved like the blood that churned beneath his translucent skin; begging to be spilled and taken and enjoyed. The scent of Peter could wind him at times; a deep musk that wafted tones of sweat, oak, forest green and a subtle sweetness like fresh, raw honey fermented in the wake of buzzing bees.  
  
  It was a scent Roman could not soon forget, not since having first laid eyes on the Gypsy, since he'd caught wind of him. It was like Peter, his scent, his being had imprinted itself on Roman's skin, in his mind, and the boy--the _Upir_ heir--had yet to find his surface, his escape.  
  
  Roman smoothed his hair back in the low wind, licking the finishing gloss on his lips that held the death defying color on his curved lips. His dark hues flashed with the lights of his bouncing headlights as they flickered across the Hemlock High entrance sign.  
  
  
  
  **  
  
  
  Peter was going to wring that goddamn Godfrey by his fucking throat.  
  
  It had been another hour, and well, you know how high school dances went--shit didn't start going down until well after the events were over--and it was only _eight - fucking - thirty_.   
  
  The wolf inside of Peter could have very well slashed his own throat out at the thought of being stood up by Roman - fucking - Godfrey.  
  
  Crash a high school gig like Hemlock High, he had said? Jesus. Peter regretted even having thought Roman could have been interested in a gig like this. He'd have been better off blowing off Letha and just boozing it out at his place, least his mom'd have bought him and Godfrey some better fuckin' food.  
  
  Peter stood next to the stage, shitty drink without even a hint of alcohol in it, in hand as the sounds of chatter droned on around him.   
  He sipped the punch with a sourwolf expression, Letha standing beside him. She twiddled her hair a bit, smoothed over locks that had been curled and smoothed over color that would definitely end up staining her hands if she kept it up.  
  
  "Nervous much?" Peter murmured against Letha's ear as the band behind them continued to play some shitty jazz tunes about ten years too old for this generation crowd.  
  
  "Roman's not here yet-" Letha looked mildly worried, chewing at her bottom lip in absent thought as she stared out to the busying crowd before them.  
  
  "Tell me something I don't fuckin' know."  
  
  "What?" Letha leaned in, smelling of some floral scents. It wasn't natural, obviously, not even close, and Peter could tell. He'd spent hours exploring glens and gardens and the forest surrounded groves of Hemlock. The scent of flowers and earth and sky was embedded in him; the scent of the wild was one he knew well, but he couldn't blame the girl; she was a part of that rich Godfrey enterprise, shit. It was probably something expensive, like Dior or...hell, Peter didn't know.  
  
  "Uhm, P-Peter-" Letha shifted beside him but Peter was too deep in thought to even think properly outside of flashing rhythmic lights and writhing bodies upon his vision.  
  
  He remembered car lights flashing behind a pale figure, the light of the moon illuminating a slender frame that breached the gymnasium doors as it stepped through.  
  
  It was a chick, _come on_ , Peter thought. It had to be, anyone would have guessed that right?   
  
  "Peter?" Letha whispered harshly beside him, eyes locked on the same figure his eyes glanced upon now, nudging Rumancek in his ribs gently.  
  
  Ebony porcelain heels clicked over the waxed surface of the gym floor, echoing in the beat of the vibrations that surrounded them.   
  The music still played and the chatter continued, but somehow you could hear, feel, the steps that were being made by the figure still cloaked in a shadowy luminescence.  
  
  Peter let his gaze rake up the thigh high stockings that hugged legs thin and long and godforsakenly pale. No one should have had hips like that, no one in this fuckin' town, Peter thought to himself. The Rumancek's blown pupils lingered on the garters that breached only inchest before a skin tight pencil skirt; hugging hips he usually saw cloaked in dress pants and jeans.   
  The figure wore a loose jacket that hung off of its shoulders, revealing the pale edges of a collar bound by a dark, rivulet lace corset he never thought he'd see outside of a gothic porn DVD.   
  
  After a moment, Peter raised his eyes to the slicked, dark hair that framed a slender jawline leading toward a smug smile painted in a shade of red that went straight to the Werewolves core. Suddenly in the midst of night, it was much too hot, far too contained in the space of the gym. The music was far too loud and the voices too blurred.   
  
  Peter couldn't even hear himself speak.  
  
  "You _are fucking_ kidding-"  
   
  "He wasn't lying about the lace." Letha whimpered beside him, a mixture of excitement and confusion as she tried not to break into a very nervous smile as he eyes fell upon her dearest cousin.  
  
  
**  
  
  
  Biblical reference shouldn't have been fitted in the center of Roman Godfrey's mind as he made his way through the crowd that had formed center stage on the dance floor. After all, the things he'd really had in mind for the evening events were far from holy.  
    
  
  The crowd continued to part, even bodies that hadn't yet recognized the prescence before them moved as if their most base of instincts could feel the boy before them. The _Upir_ heir in hiding from mortal eyes.  
  It was a parting Roman knew only from Sunday school, which his father insisted upon much to Olivia's objections:  
  
  The Red Sea.   
  
  The parting of the red sea.   
    
  It was a parting Roman felt fit the status he held in this town, far higher than Olivia, a parting that made him feel revered and watched and lusted for even in the cloth his skin lay bare to. Even in a skin that may not have been his own.  
  
  "Hey there, baby, wanna' come home with dad-"  
  
  Roman met the Senior's eyes, still, unblinking as he spoke; hues hard and unforgiving, of coal. "Not on your life."   
  
  The blonde boy, freckled, handsome admittedly to most of the female and male population (probably some jackass jock from the Hemlock High's Football team) backed away in slow, entranced though it was as he fell back into the crowd that tried their hardest not to stop and stare.  
  
  Roman kept his head low, in the usual shady fashion of his, like a secret was meant to be kept; though his eyes, his eyes, they raised themselves--golden and reflective it could have been mistaken--in the lights of the stage.  
  
  He met Peter's eyes first, his smirk flickering across pale features as a bit of blood fell across his upper lip.   
  Roman kept his eyes focused, refusing to let it waver as he wiped the blood from the cleft of his upper lip with his thumb, drawing his thumb between full lips to lick the pad of his thumb clean. His white canines flashed in the low light as his lashes fell to the taste of his own iron upon flesh.  
  
  Roman let his glance fall upon Letha then, the fondest of smirks falling across his lips then as the blood mixed with his shade of burgundy, dissapearing nearly into his chosen color.   
  
  The _Upir_ pulled his jacket up in slight, as if modesty could be held now, the shyest of courtesy nods befalling him upon approaching Letha and Peter.  
  
  Roman pulled out a cigarette upon instinct, fiddling with it between his index and thumb, lighter no where in sight.  
  
  "I guess I win this round, huh Pup?" He smirked, looking over Peter's get up once more, still able to smell the Werewolves sweet aroma over the scent of sweating teenage-hormone-ridden bodies.  
  
  **  
  
  Peter wanted to rake his eyes up and down along Roman's figure, biting his tongue and the urge to curse the gods for putting the idea of this dance in his head in the first place. He would regret. He was regretting. In time, he agreed. In time. He kept his eyes hard, drawn to the taller boys as he stepped up to them.  
  
  He swallowed a bit when the boy with the blonde hair and freckles sauntered up to Roman in the low lighting.   
  He felt a growl fit itself in the base of his chest--a posession needed to be made, a claim. And in that second, he could have torn the flesh from the freckled boy he knew not of for...what? Speaking to his friend? If that was even what he and Roman Godfrey were.  
  Peter didn't understand himself in that moment, didn't understand what he wanted, what he could have possibly needed or why now.  
  He begged whatever gods of his people there were that he could last the night in a naive bliss, because this, this was torture he knew not of.  
  
  God, Peter thought. He was acting more like an animal and the moon hadn't even reached its destined peak. Roman had been there for his change, and yet, he felt more animalistic now in nature than he had then; bare, naked, in his true form.  
  
  He could register Roman's lips, adorned in that mother fucking impossible color, the way his thumb tucked blood between lips that should have been wrapped around somthing far more promising...for them both.  
  
  "Peter...?" Letha's voice broke the haze of his thoughts.  
  
  Roman cocked his head. "A bit too much to drink, Gypsy? I Thought your people had a tolerance for that kind of thing."  
  
  Peter placed his drink onto the side of the stage, shaking his head a bit as he centered himself.   
  
  "The punch here fuckin' sucks, first off." Peter tried to feign laughter but the sound just wouldn't come. "Second-" His eyes narrowed as he swallowed back his nerves. "You thinking of walking corners or something after this? 'Cause that's not the kind of 'crashing' I was talking about, Godfrey."  
  
  "Thought we were crashing the party here?" Roman mused in soft, eyeing Letha in short.  
  
  "I think you did a great job of that, Roman! You stole the show, c'mon, no one elses' costume is gonna' compare, darling. You look fabulous!" She bounced on her sandal heels and gripper her cousins' hand, beaming.   
  
  Peter dropped his glance for a second, Roman refusing.   
  
  "I suppose I should try this terrible punch you're all going on about," Roman sighed, tucking his cigarette in his pocket. "You low, Peter?"  
  
  "What?" Peter coughed in suprise, thoughts broken once more.  
  
  "Low on drinks?" Roman smirked, pointing to his cup. "I could use the company."  
  
  Letha shifted uncomftorably beside them, rubbing at her stomach in absent; face pained in slight.  
  
  "You okay, Letha'?" Roman paused for a second, not missing the beat of Peters head as he stared down to his skirt as he turned toward his cousin.  
  
  "Yeah-yeah, just-ugh, stomach pains." She pouted. "I'll be right back, okay? Get me some water for me, won't you Roman?"  
  
  Roman smiled, not missing a second between thought transitions as he nodded. "Of course, we'll be right back." Roman lifted his eyes to Peter's, cocking his head. Letha shifted into the crowd, as did Roman and Peter.  
  
  
**  
  
  Roman stepped ahead of Peter, knowing how his skirt could hug the slight curve of his arse as he stepped, especially with the hells curving his every step.  
  
  "The fuck do you think you're doing?" Peter growled out against Roman's shoulder as he poured himself some punch.  
  
  "Making some punch-" Roman smirked into the bowl as he gripped the ladel.  
  
  Peter gripped Godfrey's wrist, pausing him indefinitely.   
  
  "Not what I meant and you know it." Peter met Roman's eyes, breathing uneven, the slightest bit of sweat beaded at his brow. Only Roman could have caught such a change. And he did, with a smile in place on his own painted lips.  
  
  "Don't like it?" Roman slide a pale palm down his side in slow, hitting the curve of his hips down to the hitch of his skirt lining. "Go back to your flower girl."  
  
  Peter nodded, emotions at a fielded crossroads between the urge to laugh, punch, and bend Roman over the fucking punch bowl table and take him where they stood.  
  
  Roman jerked his wrist away from Peter's grip, smirking in soft, eyes far more pleased. "I'm not thirsty anymore." He ennunciated with a wide grin, lips shining in the light with his gloss.  
  
  He turned on his heel, toward the back of the gym, back to where the stage met the gymnasium barrier doors, leading out into the now dark hallways of the school. Roman adjusted his jacket, pulling out his cigarette once more.  
  
  Peter followed, eyes dark and head hung low as he watched the boy before him embark.  
  
  Roman sighed, turning around against the door and leaning against the entrance that led to the hall just barely. "You know, if Letha's feeling well," He slipped the cigarette between his fingers as he held the stick at his hip. "We should all go out for a midnight ru-"  
  
  Peter shoved the taller boy inbetween the double doors, not letting him get out another word, slipping them both out into pale darkness with little sound over the blaring music. He pushed Roman back against a locker, and well, it was a locker, with a sharp edge, so of course there were protests.  
  
  "Ow," Roman was grinning however as he shifted. "Wow, you're sure one for romance-"  
  
  "Shut the fuck - _up_ \- Godfrey," Peter growled out, shoving his thigh between Roman's, free hand wrapped along the Upir's hip, clutching the godforsaken fabric and hitch of a hardened corsette bind. "For the fucking love of god-" He breathed his hot hitched breath against the taller boys collar, his light stubble scratching the skin there. "You smell like sex."  
  
  "It's called lust, dumbass." Roman countered, arching against the touches and licking his lips. "And if you haven't noticed, I had about four inches on you before," Roman shifted on one of his heels. "Now it's about six. Care to give me a hand?" Roman pressed one of his hands between them, onto Peters thigh where it met his center with a heavy breath.   
  
  "Just like that-?" Peter blinked, still a bit hazy.  
  
  "Let me take my fucking shoes off so you can fuck me, Gypsy boy." Roman damn near almost hissed, and hell if that didn't go straight to Peter's centre, his core, pants suddenly way too tight.  
  
  "In the hall-?"  
  
  "Oh my god-" Roman shifted, stepping out of one of his heels, groaning as his dick (cloathed admittedly by a thin pale plum panties -- hey, they came with the set, alright? Sue him.) brushed against Peter's jean clad thigh.  
  
  "I cleaned out my car for a reasons, dumbass." Roman breathed out, kicking off his other heel. Peter pulled back, confused for a moment in that idiotic and perfect way of his. Roman groaned, pulling him close, long slender fingers buried in locks that reeked of musk and animal and honey as he pressed his lips against the boy he'd fucking wanted to taste for the past month.  
  
  "Come the fuck on, Gypsy." Roman pulled Peter toward the back entrance where he was parked.  
  
  "Leth-"  
  
  Roman turned around, perking a brow. "She'll be fine, and I'm gonna' go and say that if you don't fucking follow me right now, you're going to have a massive case of blue balls."  
  
  Peter almost snarled.  
  
  "Blue really isn't your color, Rumancek." Roman smirked.  
  
  "I'm going to tear those fucking stocking from your legs with my teeth, you prick." Peter ground out as he followed.  
  
  "Good boy," Roman smirked, pulling open the back doors of the school and letting the cold air hit them both in the flesh.  
    
  
  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer, and I wanted to go on, but didn't want to cram you guys with words, you know?
> 
> SO  
> AS PROMISED  
> NEXT CHAPTER  
> IS SEXEH' TIMES. xD
> 
> *holds up pinky* Promise!


	5. Claims and Conscious minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, what a Godfrey wants they get.  
> And Roman finally got that goddamn Gypsy into his car; go figure.

  Peter wrapped his arms around Roman's waist as they made their way to the car, nipping lightly at the taller boys shoulder, literally purring in anticipation. Roman nearly tripped, bless his grace, at the weight of Peter pressing against him.  Roman could have cared less about the condition of his stockings as his cold feet moved their way clad in the thinest veil as the night air made a chilled canvas of his skin. Peter, on the other hand, remained as warm and avid as ever. The fucking Gyp'.

  "You're gonna' get your slobber all over me, Gypsy pup." Roman teased at the kisses, pulling keys out from the pocket of his hoodie as they approached the cherry red vehicle; fingers shaking in a way he'd only known around the the ways of withdrawl and the bittersweet lines of cocaine he did so rarely.

  Peter ran his fingers over Roman's wrists, thumbing the side of his hand; steadying them as one of the Werewolves arms slid round his waist.  "Take your time, Godfrey." Peter's voice was rough and sweet, the hum of hunger low in his throat unmistakable. Peter nuzzled against Roman's shoulder, breath soft pants as he pushed against Roman's ass, cornering the other boy from behind, erection almost too well placed at the curve of Roman's arse.  
  
  "It's not like we have all night," Roman breathed against Peter as he shifted to pull the door open, still shaking as he flicked the switch to let his updated, automated convertible cover activate.   
  He let the driver seat fall forward, making room for the backseat. God be damned if he was having a steering wheel jabbing him in the back the entirety of this time. He wasn't some cheap evening fuck like half the girls he took, after all. Nor was Peter.  
  
  "Little ol' Roman want's a quickie now does he?" Peter teased, licking his lips he gave a playful buck against Roman's tight skirt from behind. "I could take you right here, let the entire school see just what you've made of me."  
  
  Roman had to actually curb himself away from the idea, considering who could walk upon them. "Fuck you, Romancek-" Roman grinned, trying to make himself sound annoyed. He turned around to let himself pull the other boy into the car, clambering in an array of pale lace clad limbs over his seat. He could hear Peter growling out his laughter, or maybe it was an anticipated purr, the  _Upir_  couldn't be sure at the moment--hell--he didn't care. All he knew is that the craving in his centre, in his being, much like the bloodlust he had known since after his father's death, was growing in him.  
  
  "Don't think that would be much of a problem," Peter fell against Roman's pale frame and soft supple leather seats in a half straddle, barely hunched against the roof. His rough palms rucked and slid up against the other boys pale thighs, his stockings and garters, fingers teasing just under the hem of Roman's skirt, wanting nothing mroe than to rip the fabric away from that slender frame.   
    
  "Fucking hell, Godfrey-" Peter bit his bottom lip in a hazed thought, shifting his hips in an experimental roll as he steadied himself atop Roman, groaning at the slight taste of friction.  
  
  "Tell me about it, Gypsy boy." Roman shrugged off his hoodie with a rough grunt, pulling Peter down to meet his lips with eager color painted kisses; angling his sharp features to accomadate Peter's soft boy-like ones, rounded jaw and subtle stubble. God damn, Roman could have layed there in eternity just  _kissing._ He could practically taste the sweetness on Peter's lips, that natural honey lingering on the other boys lips, and that bitterness that reminded him of cheap beer, making the Godfrey smirk into his kiss. Slender fingers curled up behind Peter's head to run themselves in his thick locks, loose in a ponytail. Roman gave an experimental tug, grin widening when Peter outright growled.  
  
  "Fucking-" Roman shifted up against Peter when he realized Peter's barely existent movement. He slide his hips up, bucking them with a hot breath. He tugged at the Gypsies long locks once more. "You just gonna' sit on me all night or-"  
  
  "Shut up, Roman." Peter whispered against the other boys lips with a warm whisper of laughter that wen't straight to the tallers boys crotch. "You had to wear a skirt..." The Gypsy continued as he leaned back in soft, licking his lips. "Tightest fucking skirt this side of-" He never finished his sentence, trailed off by his wandering eyes and rough fingers as they skirted the hem of Roman's skin tight skirt.  
  
  "I have the ass for it, tell me something I don't know," Roman let his teeth sink into his bottom lip when Peter's fingers brushed between his thighs, sending shivers down his milky thighs as his throbbing erection, so hidden behind tight fabric and want lay untouched.  
  
  "Pete-"  
  
  Rough fingers slid up to the crease of Roman's thighs, hitting the edge of his underwear, curving rough nails under the thin frilled linings of those plum panties.  
  
  Roman sunk his nails into Peter's jean-clad thighs, tugging the boy sharply. "I swear to god if you play with me now, pup-"  
  
  "You really ought to put that pretty little mouth of yours to better work...wit has never been your forte." Peter smirked.   
  
  "Then let me fucking blow you." Roman breathed out shakily.  
  
  "No way, Godfrey, as promising as that sounds--and believe me, I'm holding you to that--I'm far too gone for a blissed out bj."  
  
  Roman could have whimpered at the implication, perhaps he did somewhere in the low of his throat because Peter slid off the taller boy in slight, pulling Roman to fully straddle him.   
  
  "My dick is gonna' suffocate in this skirt, Peter come-"  
  
  "God, you're so quiet in school," Peter grinned, sliding hot palms down Roman's thighs as he tugged to let their bodies meet harder. "Get you hot and bothered in your own car and shit, you can't  _shut_  -  _up_."  
  
  Roman pursed his lips, expression breaking when the boy beneath him let his hands cup the curve of his ass, pulling him up against a hardness hidden behind jeans. The Upir heir wrapped his arms around Peter's neck, letting his hips roll right over the erection he knew was playing with his fucking emotions.   
  
  Peter let his hands travel up the curve of Roman's spine, where the zipper that held together his skirt lay tight and in wait.  
  
  "Please-" Roman whispered against Peter's shoulder as he rocked his hips just that much more. "Come-"  
  
  "Shh," Peter cooed. He let his fingers tug at the end of the zipper, dragging it down to let the tightly bound block of fabric fall away from Roman's hips. The Godfrey heir openly sighed, shifting his thighs tighter on Peter's lap, pressing hot kisses down the Gypsies neck, letting his canines skim the salt slicked skin there.  
  
  "Panties, Godfrey...?" Peter's words, questions, expletives, all of them were lost against Roman's own breaths, his body's constant thrumming.  The taller boy simply nodded, letting his hands run down Peter's chest, his sides, slipping shamelessly under his already torn and tattered t-shirt. His strength, supernatural as it was, came in handy at times like this. With a swift prescision he ripped what little of the fabric was left away from Peter's chest, sliding painted lips down the center of the other male's chest, nipping, licking; tasting salt and honey and  _skin_.  
  
  "Eager bastard," Peter growled, palm slipping down to cup Roman through the thin veiling fabric, fingers expertly gripping the member that so strained against the curve of Roman's hip.  
  
  Roman bucked wantonly in to the touch, steadying himself against Peter's knee, swallowing back a heated groan as Peter's free hand roamed up to slide across the last stitching of his corsette, the ribbon that held it all in place. Roman drew back to capture Peter's reddened lips with his own, admiring for a moment the smear of color against his others lips; what it mimiced, what he craved so openly now it seemed.   
  
  "I'm going to rip this corsette off myself if you can't get those paws of yours to work," Roman snickered in a panted slow.  
  
  Peter flicked his finger under the ribbon, tugging at it and tearing it instantly as the ripple effect loosened the entirety of the binding fabric.  
  
  "You're not the only guy in this town with super-strength." Peter threw the corsette aside, breaking Roman's lips for breath and the nip of his others nipple with the sharp of his canines.   
  
  "F-fuck," Roman jerked, as did his dick. "Knew you'd be a biter." His laugh was short lived as Peter's fingers slid under the thin straps of his underwear, threatening to tear.   
  
  "Remind me," The Werewolf murmured against Roman's skin. "To  _steal_  you a pair of these next time."   
  
  "A gypsy, is a gypsy, is a gypsy-" Roman groaned as the fabric split from his sides, leaving him exposted atop a all too almost completely dressed Peter Rumancek.   
  Roman perked a brow, pausing, eying the boys jeans expectantly. The Upir raised his hips without being told, Peter's fingers curving to let him arch as the Rumancek stripped himself of belt and jeans, pushing his boxers and mess of buckles and fabric down to his ankles in the back of Godfrey's car.  
  
  "Mhmm," Roman hummed, pale fingers splaying down against Peter's abdomen, teasing the rough traile of hair there as his touch skimmed lower. "Much better."   
  
  "Don't we-" Peter pressed his forehead against Roman's, nuzzling the other boys nose as his hardness strained, Roman's fingers gripping his length with the most teasing of touches. "Don't we need-"  
    
  "No." Roman swallowed without a second beat, raising his hips once more. "Come on," His voice was taut with a desperation, a need, a vulnerability that no one outside of his own blood had ever come to hear, and here he was, practically begging to be taken...by a Rumancek.  
  
  Mother would have rather see him skinned.  
  
  Peter let his rough fingers curl around Roman's thighs as he brushed a thumb against Roman's full bottom lip, the Upir immidiately sucking it in, followed by Peter's index, only pausing when both fingers were obscenely slick.   
  Peter let his free hand slide under Roman's thigh, tilting him back as the Gypsies slick fingers slide down against the still ever-cool flesh of Roman's length.  
  
  "How are you still so fuckin' cold?" Peter whispered to himself, grinning as his fingers slid under Godfrey's all too tight balls, gently circling the entrance he knew they both begged to be entered.  
  
  "I feel like I'm fuckin' on fire," Roman groaned, shifting hips closer. "Ah," He pressed down, closer, wanting Peter's fingers to fucking fill him, amongst other things. He just needed to be full, full of anything, fucked in entirety by the beautiful boy who smelled so sweat and honey and animal.  
  
  Peter licked his lips, Roman's fingers burying themselves back in his hair as his fingers pressed forward, not one, but two, at once.  "Mmph," Roman nodded against Peter, letting the other know he was not just a boy to be fucked with and taken gently, he was strong, Upir by all means and he could take this.   
  
  Peter twisted his fingers, tightly pent together, curving them ever so gently to search out that small bundle of nerves so delicately placed along the now slick, hot, heated welcoming that was Roman Godfrey.   
  
  Roman arched at the sudden sensation, the fullness, the sharp and soft discomfort at being entered as such. He bit his lip and braced himself, relaxing against the touch and whimpering when that slight friction against the tight ball of nerves inside of him was touched. "Just-ah," He ground back experiementally, wanting the touch again. A soft pant broke by his lips, a throaty whimper full of insecurity and desire as he angled himself to reach that spot, that sensation and spark once more.  "There."  
  
  Peter watched Roman with an intensity he hadn't known in himself, like the eyes of a wolf should have surely split his skin and watched upon the scene before him. It was base. It was animal. This scent, the one that filled him and completely took him over--it reminded him of home. A home Gypsies never knew, a home that lay in the earth, in the woods, in the natural and orderly and beautiful. The scent of Roman Godfrey reminded him of a home he had yet to know.  
  
  "Please-" Roman let his head fall back as his hips jerked in their uncertainty, skin exposed by means of neck and chest. The faintest beat of a pulse stretched under skin, thrumming and coursing hard as Roman's body continued to buzz. A smile spread across Roman's lips, a knowing bliss that Peter wanted, then, on the face of the boy before him to be branded; branded into skin and memory and blood.   
  
   Peter lined himself up with Roman's wanton hips, center unmistakable; the sweat on the brow of the Upir before him enough to conjure the lowest of growls from the wolf inside of Peter. He wanted to lick and bite and claim; claim until their scents were unmistakably mingled and not a creature left on the earth could mistake who Roman belonged to, who Peter had made his and been made in return. He knew that wolves could be fierce, territorial, but the sight of Roman beneath him, so open, willing...Peter couldn't help but lean up to kiss that fluttering, pounding pulse, to nuzzle himself in the scent he wanted to be consumed by. To let Roman know this was not just a claim.  
  
  Roman inched his way down with steady thighs, biting at the red at the bottom of his lip as though the stretch, the burn, the bliss bothered him not at all and the kiss...to his lifeblood. It was as if the world before him completely snuffed itself out, and only sensation and Peter remained. So Roman angled his hips in his haze, wanting pressure and heat and that blissful burn right _there_ as his body wracked itself with the notion of being taken so openly...for the first time like this, with any one boy, despite past endeavours. And try as he might, Roman couldn't hide the sudden gasps and hitched whimpers, the moans that left him when Peter's length would drag inside of him cruel and slow and pitted in perfection as he fell to the hit bottom. He curled against Peter, ground down as his garters undid themselves with friction and slid against sweat-sheened thighs, Peter's nails hitching in the stockings with each rock of their bodies.  
  It was new for him and new for Peter, but Roman's body simply took, wanted, with each thrust Peter slid deeper Roman's moans grew louder, vibrated inside of them both until he was panting and begging, straining against Peter's shoulders as those unfogiving hips pounded and perfected their entrance into his body and being.  
  
  He moaned Peter's name in ever soft, the softest he'd done since this entirety began and it was tender in that instance, raw and childlike. Peter's Wolf took over, wanted to console and cuddle, nuzzle and make way for...for Roman.   
  
  "I got you," Peter nosed against Roman's chin, stubble prickling there as a rough palm reached between them to satisfy Roman's untouched member. It was almost too much for Roman; the insecurity, the sensetivity, the overwhelming need that for once wasn't plagued by bloodlust...  
  Peter slid his hot palm quickly against Roman, strokes hard and fast with hips to match as he felt the coil of completion winding in his own abdoment, pooling with a heat so feverish he barely recognized the teeth that sank into his shoulder as a warmth flooded over his fingertips, joined by the sparks behind his eyelids; the shakes in his hips that couldn't quit for moments after filling Roman with his seed.   
    
  "I'm-" Roman's voice was broken, almost, but Peter knew it as another form of beauty. A different shade on the lips of the Godfrey. "Sorry..." Roman licked his lips, licked at the wound he'd created against Peter's shoulder, catching the soft tendrils of blood as they flowed.   
  
  Peter could feel the smile on Roman's lips as the boy's tongue slide over sensetive wounds. He shivered, not feeling pain, but at the chill Roman's mouth posessed.  
  
  "Got a little excited..." The Upir let out a soft breath laughter.  
  
  Peter nosed against Roman's jawline lazily, smirking at the comment with a small shake of his head, thumbing the tip of Roman's dick in absent thought.  
  
  "Ah, fuck! Still-s-sensetive-" Roman's hips shivered, jerked, like that of a spent woman's in their aftermath. Peter's grin widened, he barely managed to catch his breath to laugh.  
  
  "Yeah, keep laughing Gypsy," Roman swallowed, voice still thick as his fingers twined in the loose curls of Peter's hair, his tone far too soft to have been serious. "I'll have you walk your ass home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter dragged on a bit?  
> First time writing smut, well, publicly. I hope it's okay? BUT, as promised, THIS CHAPTER IS FINISHED. As is the works, so well, who knows, maybe I'll get better as time progresses!
> 
> In the meantime, do you guys have any prompts, maybe? I'm so down for any Romancek romances and such, I would seriously write anything your hearts desire.  
> You can submit them to my tumblr: (thelastbarricade.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and as always, feedback is sososo appreciated and welcome! 
> 
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work (WIP) for the fandom of Hemlock grove. The show is pretty sick, in my opinion. I'm kinda in love with it. 
> 
> So yeah! Woop. 
> 
> Also, if you wanna' sumbit some Peter/Roman prompts, my ask is always open ON MY TUMBLR: thelastbarricade.tumblr.com


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